A Weather Coder’s Journal

by Parul Sinha

15/2/2018 03:00

The wind slashed against my back as I crept though the turbulence. Mother knew I was coming. I'd creep faster then.

15/2/18 05:00

I came upon a patch of light, locked in the Sun's embrace. I was outside Spain's room. I'm sure you've met, but we just glimpsed the 'greatest weather coder around'- my brother Spain. Not the country; the weather coder. His stare was enough to raise the air pressure in the corridor; his gaze enough to give the tropics a bout of humidity. Every time he sat down at his computer, it would rain miracles on earth - or his part of it anyway. A stench of guilt intoxicated me as I strode though the corridors of my home in the clouds. I shot a glance down to the inhabitants of my part of the world. This was right. This was for them. I was left to avoid the dark stare of the towering arches in front of me.

15/2/18 06:00

I'm not brilliant at my job. Winter being a dark, frosty, cold time; and summer the same, except less murky (I haven't figured out those lines of code yet). I sat at my desk and opened my computer. Butterflies exploded in my stomach as light pirouetted on the sweat building on my fingertips. I was doing this for the people. They'd finally get the weather they deserved. It may be illegal, but a cheat code would bring light to Britain - it might even bring a smile to Mother Nature' s face. My conscience screamed as I opened up the program.

___-SUMMER_IN_THE_SUN54747

It's done. It'll take an hour or so to process. I did it for the people.

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Do you think Mother will forgive me? Will her birds ever sing the same way when I come? What'll Spain say? Will I be able to live with what I've done? It's too late for those questions now. I'll face the consequences. I nervously twiddled my thumbs as I stared into the dark, only a fading green computer light illuminating the corner of the room.

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I'll see the bright side - the side that all those butterflies in my stomach saw so clearly. I would be acclaimed for my coding prowess. The sun would greet the British people. My people. They would see victory even if they were blind. The deaf would hear it in their hearts. It would rain miracles.

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My false legacy would reign. Mother... she'd be proud of me... she'd never know. The birds would never know. No one could know.

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I'd finally be equal to Spain, isn't that what I wanted? But, would it be admitting defeat; admitting I wasn't a good enough weather coder? Didn't I always know that though?

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A curse or a blessing, it was a moment away... a moment until I grasp the future like I should have done long ago...

ERROR 5670

BRITISH SUMMER FAILED TO LOAD

PLEASE TRY SPAIN